Woof in your face.
Right, I have not had an alcoholic drink for 18 days. My donations on my just giving page, do not reflect the pain I have been through. If you don’t believe I have not had a drink I can get you references. I’m walking round my house dressed as a poodle for godsake….. This is what sobriety has done to me. Surely this deserves some dosh? http://www.justgiving.com/dryathlete-louise-conran
In the 18 days I have not had a drink, this is what I have replaced it with:
I’ve started sniffing peoples drinks. This is not normal. These are the actions of a pregnant woman, a recovering alcoholic, a dog. Of which I am none. Although some people I’m sure would disagree on at least one of these points.
I have replaced booze with hot chocolate. I hate hot chocolate. At least I thought I hated hot chocolate until this week. I’ve always been of the opinion that chocolate in general smells of bumholes. Mind you, if my bumhole smelt of chocolate i’m sure i’d get a lot more interest from the opposite sex. Or dogs. Sniff your chocolate and tell me it doesn’t smell like bumholes, go on. It does, see. I’m not suggesting you stick your finger up your area now, you might be in Asda, or teaching, or at the doctors (which might be necessary) but in private, get yourself a twirl, have a good snort on that, and then, compare and contrast. And while we’re on sniffing things, marmite smells of ginger people, and or, belly buttons.
So apparently it’s snowing outside. Whoop de doo. Thank god my all in one french poodle outfit arrived today. Why have you got an all in one french poodle outfit, i hear you cry, when you are 38, and have enough to contend with in your life, like singledom, a bumhole that smells of chocolate, and ginger people on your toast? Well, people who clearly have no sense of adventure, it is simply because I am desperately clinging on to my youth, and to prove that I am in no way your conventional nearly 40 year old woman. Some may buy a posh car, some may start shagging 20 year olds, some may get plastic surgey, me? I haven’t got any money to buy a posh car, I can’t get a 38 year old, let alone a 20 year old, and the thought of plastic surgery is ridiculous. I have no need to mutilate myself. Why would I need to when I have a french poodle outfit that can cover everything up that i hate? See, logic.
Dropped in on Jan and Mick the other day. That was nice of me i thought. Jan opened the door and had no idea who i was. Even my own mother, for a split second, wasn’t prepared to acknowledge me. She let me in eventually, and promptly went straight to the freezer to feed me. Jan is a baker. She makes cakes. Good cakes. Only thing is, no one is allowed to eat them, so as soon as they’re made, they go straight in the freezer. You know, for special occasions. Obviously my visit warranted the defrosting of a slice of carrot cake. I rejected the offer, due to me being a health guru and I could see she was disappointed but at least it’s there if anyone else drops by unannounced and isn’t recognised.
I also found a ‘garment’ stashed down the side of the sofa. My instant thought was that even my parents are having more sex than me, but it was instantly whipped from my hands. I’d only gone and discovered Jan’s Wi fit leotard behind the cushion. At least that’s her story anyway.
Oh and my hands smell of onions.
Give me your money http://www.justgiving.com/dryathlete-louise-conran thank you x